


Beginning's End

by hella_fandoms



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Purge of Dalaran, things get hairy quick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24906379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hella_fandoms/pseuds/hella_fandoms
Summary: A collection of ficlets and snippets from my soon to be posted stories about Ralanya Dawnblade, Priestess of Quel'thalas. They don't fit into the main storyline, yet hold their own places of importance in the storyline.
Kudos: 1





	Beginning's End

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! I've had this story, and all these snippets, planned for a while, but getting them on paper can be hard. Thanks to the lovely folks in the Purple Parlor discord for giving me the motivation I needed to get some of these written and posted.

It was a quiet and moderately chilly day in Dalaran, the Northrend winds still bitingly cold, but held back by the complex weather magic at work around the city. Near the bustling heart of the city, a wooden sign waved in the breeze from the ropes that held it up, advertising Cella's Tailoring. The shop was open and airy, a small spell keeping it warm as a nice spring day, just like the owner's home.

Myrcella, the bright and bubbly owner, was a sin'dorei woman with blonde hair in an elegant updo, her dress a lovely sky blue in the latest Silvermoon fashion. She was chatting amicably with one of her customers, a blue-haired half-elf who was inquiring after one of her spellweave cloaks.

"It's enchanted to keep the wearer warm or cool, depending on climate. It's also a very simple style, but still very lovely, something I think your lady would enjoy."

"Thank you, Lady Myrcella."

"I'm no lady, m'lord. Just a simple seamstress with an impeccable eye for fashion."

"Indeed you are."

As he waved goodbye, leaving with his purchase, Myrcella smiled and looked around. The shop had been quieter of late, her regular quel'dorei clients avoiding her shop simply because she was a sin'dorei. It broke her hear, but she understood. She sympathized with Lady Vereesa, she too knew the loss of a husband.

She was tidying up for the day, preparing to close up shop, when she heard voices.

"-told you, the owner is nice."

"She's also sin'dorei, I refuse to-"

"Vereesa, please."

Myrcella poked her head out and smiled at the pair.

"Archmage Modera, tell me you haven't ruined my hard work again."

"Hardly," the silver-haired human chuckled, "But my friend here needs some top quality spellweave and I can think of no one better than you."

"You flatter me, Modera. Lady Vereesa, you're welcome to come in."

Modera all but dragged Vereesa in and the quel'dorei froze, looking around.

"It's like I've stepped back into Silvermoon..."

"I know. I asked a mage to recreate Silvermoon's warmth and architecture for those in Dalaran who can't go home. I thought I might bring it to them."

Vereesa seemed to tear up and Myrcella tutted, "Now now, my dead, none of that. You're most welcome here... and you have my deepest condolences. I lost my husband some years ago, I would never wish that on anyone."

"Is that why Alvet is such a brat?" Modera asked, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"No, he just wants to be like his uncle. My younger brother was always a feral little brat as a child."

"You've a brother?" Vereesa asked.

"Four. We lost one to the Scourge, but the other three are well. In fact, the youngest of them speaks very highly of you."

"The feral little brat?"

"Indeed. He became a Farstrider."

"... Is it Halduron?"

"You're absolutely right!" Myrcella beamed as she set her tools to measuring Vereesa, "He's still just as feral... but he tries to be a better influence on Alvet. The boy just won't listen."

"I can toss him in the Violet Hold for a night," Modera offered.

"If he keeps hanging around those rogues in the sewers, I might just take you up on that. Now, what type of spellweave were you looking for?"

The next day, Myrcella was finishing up with Lady Vereesa's order when she heard shouting in the streets. With a sigh, she rose to tell those damn hooligans where to stick their trouble.

She wasn't even halfway to the door when her son ran in and slammed the door behind him, locking it with shaking hands and pulling her into the back room.

"We have to hide, we have to... oh Belore, they killed him, fuck, what..."

"Alvet, breathe," she murmured, taking in the blood on her son's clothing and hands.

"They killed him, Minn'da. They killed Shaoren. They started going around, grabbing any sin'dorei they could find... Shaoren fought back and they... they stabbed him, oh Belore he's dead."

Myrcella's heart froze. She knew Shaoren Duskcaller. He was a troublesome young man with a big heart who tried to steer Alvet in the right direction but ended up in just as much trouble.

A pounding on the door startled her and Alvet whimpered.

"Myrcella Brightwing! Exit the premises at once. We know you're in there!"

That was Eliven Sunsong. He'd been a client of hers for years, she made his wife's anniversary gifts for six years now. Surely he could be reasonable.

She stepped out of the back room and stormed up front, flinging the door open after she unlocked it.

"Listen here, I don't know what is going on, but my son is traumatized! You'd best start talking, mister!"

It was evident that they hadn't expected her to start shouting at them, so they paused, long enough for her to see the rust colored stains on their weapons.

"Anar'alah belore... he wasn't lying. You... you killed..."

"You will be given an hour to pack your belongings and be shown to transportation out of the city. What you do after is up to you, but you and your son are no longer welcome in Dalaran. No member of the Horde is."

"The Horde... what happened? Lieutenant Sunsong, please, what happened? We've done nothing wrong! I know my boy can be trouble, but-"

"Orders from the Council, Madam Brightwing. I'm sorry. I know my wife appreciates your work, says it reminds her of home. We really have no choice. Anyone who resists is taken to the Violet Hold."

"Or killed?" she snapped, rising to her full height, "Shaoren Duskcaller did not deserve to die. You'd best remember that name, because you will feel that guilt for the rest of your lives, all of you damned Silver Covenant types. I hope it burns you alive."

"Madam-"

"Begone!" she sneered, "We'll leave, but don't expect me to do so meekly. Alvet, go upstairs and pack your things. We're leaving."

"But this is our home!"

"Lady Proudmoore seems to believe otherwise. Oh, and Sunsong? Tell Vereesa her spellweave is ready, for whatever it's worth. She can keep it for all I care, even though she never paid for it. She can keep all of it, not like I can carry it all."

"I'm truly sorry, madam, I-"

"If you were truly sorry, you would have the courage to stand up against what is wrong. Cowards don't get to be sorry, they just get to be guilty."

Alvet hurried upstairs and within twenty minutes they were packed and being marched to a portal held open by a visibly shaking apprentice.

"Have faith," Myrcella murmured to the young woman, "You'll be out of here soon. You're saving lives."

The girl nodded, but the fear remained.

Three days later, Myrcella was in her shop in Silvermoon, looking around at the boarded up windows, boarded since the Scourge. A knock at the door startled her and she called out, "Come in!"

It swung open and four men filed in. Seinor, her old brother, wielded a scroll and a toolkit. Thaddeus, the first of her three younger brothers, had a bolt of fine cloth under one arm and a stack of boards under the other. Halduron, the youngest of the five siblings and the most stubborn, had a bottle of wine in one hand and a red-haired man in the other.

"Good to see you home, Myrcella," Seinor said with a grin, "We're here to help you get this place up and running again."

"All four of you? I don't think it will take that many."

Halduron laughed, "Nonsense. Aethas is here to magic whatever you need."

That was Aethas Sunreaver? Belore, he barely looked older than her younger daughter...

"I'm sure I can think of something," she smiled, "If I'm to be open tomorrow, I suppose I'll need all the help I can get."


End file.
